Dawson Filter as He Relates to Explosions

Sylvester Denny pulled a wire out from behind his left ear; and, 98 years later, an android designed to closely resemble him fell down in front of Babe Listowel. Sylvester read the previous sentence, and deduced that he was located in 2016, via math.

If you would like the above paragraph to make sense, I would recommend reading last week’s chapter, “Dawson Filter As He Relates To Projectors“. On the off-chance that it doesn’t make sense, I might suggest reading everything else I’ve ever written on this website, or giving up.

“So, I’m in 2016.” Sylvester told the Quest Committee.

“Do you know which time of year?” Twelve Anne asked, “Or where you are in physical space?”

The janitor, named Titan, leaned his mop against the wall in 2016, and said “It’s March 12, and we’re in the Texan district of Manhattan. We’re the only shack on 79th Street, besides Simôn’s Aromatherapy, so you should be able to find us if you’re sufficiently good at things.”

“I know deep down in my heart of hearts and mind of minds that this doesn’t have anything to do with saving you,” Dawson said, “but how are the ‘literary waves’ all being received in 2016, in an order that makes sense, when they tell a story spanning at least 98 years? And how are they being decoded by the (probably uneducated) modifications of a fax machine by a columnist without enough good fortune to have a name other that ‘Lexter’?”

Titan sat his body down, stroked his chin, and spoke in a way which defies explanation. “We really don’t know. Literary waves seem to have the ability to bend time and space; to warp reality itself to comply to what is written if it makes for a good plot point. Me and the other cleaning boys think that whatever’s writing us almost wants us to see what it wrote; which would explain why the code to read the waves is exactly the same as the one they use for fax machines. That apparently makes for a good story where our author comes from.”

Silence fell over the people, falling most strongly on the ones I’ve been writing about; but still slightly bringing down the noise per capita of the rest. Sylvester looked at Titan’s watch. As a result, he knew the time. He looked again. The same time. That couldn’t be right. Sylvester looked again. Still the same time. He did this another twelve times before getting a different result. He decided that he hated silence with all that was within him, and began to spite the force with the patter of his twiddling thumbs. He decided to start disliking boredom. He started to count to 23 in increments of 0, starting at negative four. He then decided to take up speaking.

“It’s 3:34 right now, so if you could swing by with the time machine by four, that’d be really neat of you.”

“Our time machine can only travel to preset times and places,” and “so you may have to wait over a year before we can get to you.” Twelve-Anne said, respectively.

There was an error with last week’s post that made it so it published Saturday, but recorded the date it was published as the Tuesday before; so it didn’t show up in anyone’s WordPress reader place. I fixed the problem, but anyone who missed it missed finding out that Sylvester Denny is locked in a room in 2016 as part of a research program to read the universe. It’s probably the worst post I’ve ever written to have problems with.